


Claim

by raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha Will, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Hannibal, Hannibal is into it though, Jealous Will, M/M, Omegaverse, aggressive sex, dubcon, forced claiming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: Based on a kinkmeme prompt noncon/dubcon prompt (though of course Hannibal doesn't mind):After their fall, Will and Hannibal settle into a life that is deceptively easy in all ways but one: despite their quite obvious desires, Will and Hannibal are not intimate with each other. One night, Hannibal returns home with telltale signs and scents that he has been with another, and Will absolutely loses it. His feral Alpha hindbrain decides that it's time to make it clear to whom Hannibal belongs.





	Claim

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this dubcon because technically, Will acts on his own desires with no thought of his partner's consent. However, it's made quite clear that Hannibal takes no umbrage with the events that play out.

They need to have sex. 

It’s obvious to Will, so he’s certain that it’s something that has occurred to Hannibal even sooner (as most things do).

Honestly, Will is a bit surprised it hasn’t happened yet. They had been confined in such close quarters on the boat for _ weeks _ as they tended to their wounds and sailed to an area deemed safe enough in which to settle down. Hell, even delirious from pain and blood loss, Will almost thought they might fall into each other as soon as the sea spat them up onto that pitiful little strip of beach.

He has no doubt that they would have fucked right there on the clifftop if Will hadn’t tipped them over the edge.

But now they have been settled in a remote villa on the outskirts of Havana for three months, and they still have yet to even share a kiss. Will is more than a little irritated by it.

He knows that Hannibal desires him. He can feel it in the subtle glances the Alpha shifts his way, the touches that linger just _ slightly _too long to be deemed entirely casual. 

Likewise, he is certain that Hannibal realizes that Will has settled into a similar mindset. Many nights he wakes sweating and panting and hard in his solitary bed in his solitary room, taking himself in his hand to relieve the ache so that sleep may claim him once more. He knows that Hannibal’s freak olfactory receptors have caught the scent a time or two in his room the next morning; can tell by the way the doctor’s nostrils flare involuntarily, spine stiffening until he can ramble out an excuse to leave the area. Perhaps he doesn’t know that there is only one specific cannibal that holds the cameo role in the dreams that leave Will no other recourse but to pathetically squeeze his knot and tug at his leaking cock until his own carnal desires are sated.

Even so, he must notice the way that Will’s cheeks pinken when Hannibal’s eyes linger on him just a bit longer than necessary; must feel the quickening of Will’s blood when his hand slides too slowly away. He _ must _ hear the way Will’s heart pounds every time they lock eyes.

And yet he does nothing. He knows that Hannibal has been with Alphas in the past, so Will doesn’t think it’s his gender that’s stopping him. Not with all that they have been through, put each other through. Not with Bedelia spouting Dante at him, which was as good as any an answer to his question.

For the first time in the five plus years he has known Hannibal Lecter, Will wishes that he was working at some ulterior motive. They share meals and chores. Will wanders the market while Hannibal picks out the perfect ingredients for their meals and Hannibal lounges upon the boat with a sketchpad while Will fishes. When they come across a particularly unsavory character, they lure them back to their home and then butcher them. They cook together the most, then, after a fresh kill.

But the tension that lays thick between them, the sparks that sizzle along their skin when they draw a little closer than necessary...that goes unacknowledged.

Truthfully, it’s driving Will insane. But Hannibal has never had any issue with directing their relationship the way in which he desires it to go, and so despite every sign that indicates otherwise, Will allows each moment to pass them unseized.

There are times when Will is tempted to act on desires that feel so primal and wild they are obviously drawn from that bit of lizard brain which humans have yet to fully evolve out of. It’s pathetically Alpha, and Will hates it. But he’s seen it happen in his mind’s eye time and again: the way he would push Hannibal against the fridge and claim his mouth when he brushes closer than necessary to Will as they cook, the way he would lunge at the man right there on the sandy beach and hold him down to lick away the beads of saltwater that cling to and trail down his body after his morning swim. He can see Hannibal responding in a myriad of ways, and, frustratingly enough, each is seemingly likely: Surprised and then pleased, matching the intensity of Will’s hunger, or perhaps not surprised at all. Relieved? 

The possibility of shock and confusion, the gentle pity that would fill his eyes when he realizes that Will had misunderstood...that is what stays Will’s compulsions, what keeps them fantasies. He doesn’t think he could bear to see Hannibal look at him with pity.

So he allows those lingering moments to crackle between them until they fizz out on their own, holds Hannibal’s gaze until the other man looks away, waits for Hannibal to do as he’s always done and take what he wants from Will, whether he deems the other Alpha ready or not. 

But Hannibal doesn’t. He doesn’t acknowledge what simmers between them, not even with vague metaphors, which surprises Will greatly, since Hannibal’s insufferable metaphors have colored every aspect of their relationship for the last five years. His touch lingers, but it always pulls away. He doesn’t close that last bit of distance between them.

What he _ does _ do, however, is begins going out.

Will doesn’t think much of it at first; he, himself, flees their villa from time to time, seeking a space in which he can breathe free of the emotionally charged atmosphere that seems to surround them constantly. At first, in fact, he thinks that Hannibal might have found another pig. So when the man disappears after dinner with no explanation, Will half-expects him to return with some intel, having done reconnaissance on another target--a hunt for them to share.

Hannibal returns each night, but he does so smelling of booze. Nothing as elitist as they keep stocked in their villa, even, but the kind of whiskey or vodka that a dive bar would serve as a well drink. He returns stinking of the cloying scent of cheap booze and sweat and cigarette smoke, and he does not relay any hunt-worthy information to Will. 

Will always waits up when Hannibal goes out, though he makes damn certain that it appears that he is up and about by his own agency and not just because he is eagerly and anxiously awaiting the other man to return. He makes certain that Hannibal knows how invested he is when he begins a new book, so the fact that he is sitting in the study with his face buried in the pages at midnight does not reveal itself as an oddity. He makes passing comments about waking frequently during the night, having trouble finding rest again, so that the sight of Will at his desk making lures at one in the morning is commonplace. 

He does everything he can to pretend that Hannibal’s absence does not leave him filled with uncertainty, with the undeniable and mortifying feeling of being _ abandoned. _ However, when Hannibal returns one night smelling of more than cheap booze, but some irritatingly abrasive cologne that Will knows-_-knows--_that Hannibal could never stand to wear, his hair only haphazardly pushed over into its normal coif, his perfect silk shirt rumpled and the column of his throat dotted with telling red splotches, Will has no other recourse.

Hannibal murmurs and goodnight as he passes the study, perhaps not realizing how shrewdly Will is examining every inch of him over the top of his book, right down to the slight _ limp _ that mars Hannibal’s clipped pace as he begins to ascend the stairs... 

And Will loses it.

White-hot anger blooms in his chest, unfurls through his body in burning waves that leave him panting. He throws down the book that he had previously clutched in his hands, uncaring when the first edition printing lands on the floor face down and open, its pages bending under its own weight. He’s standing before he knows it, stalking after Hannibal without any thought beyond the betrayal that grips his heart in a vise and sends signals of _ sick _ and _ purge _ to his stomach. This is worse than anything else, he finds himself thinking as his feet fall heavily upon the stairs. Worse than being framed, worse than the gutting, worse than Abigail and Italy and _ everything. _Every lie, every manipulation, every betrayal--Will could forgive them all. But he can’t forgive this.

Hannibal had closed his bedroom door after him, and they both start when Will shoves it open so violently that it slams against the adjacent wall, the aged brass doorknob sinking into the plaster to leave a sizable hole. Neither react to the damage, because Will ignores it and Hannibal is too busy being manhandled against the wall near his closet, where he had begun to remove his wrinkled shirt.

He moves immediately to subdue Hannibal, though the other man is hardly fighting back, pressing one forearm across Hannibal’s broad chest to pin his shoulders to the wall while his other hand wraps firmly and unforgiving around Hannibal’s throat. The rest of Will’s body falls in line to pin Hannibal’s body down, their faces the closest they have been since they were panting and blood-soaked on that bluff above the Atlantic.

“Just what the _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Will snarls, his lips pulling back instinctively to bare his teeth with aggressive dominance. He’s speaking again before Hannibal can even hope to answer him. “You can’t _ possibly _ think I would allow someone else--_goddammit _Hannibal!” He’s more growling than speaking at this point, his hands moving again of their own volition to continue Hannibal’s earlier efforts to remove his shirt, though Will employs the use of rage-induced force to rip the garment open and yank it from his limbs. Hannibal, to his credit, does not attempt to stop Will or assuage him in any way, merely allows that heavy gaze to fall upon him, studying him, waiting to see what he will do--

It only incenses Will further.

He presses forward to mouth against the flesh of Hannibal’s throat, obstinately ignoring the foreign scent that still mars the area and nuzzling against it in an attempt to cover it, to reclaim what is rightfully his, even though neither of the men has acknowledged it thus far. His hands turn to claws, scrabbling frantically at the belt and fly that bind Hannibal’s trousers to his hips. His mouth finds Hannibal’s ear as he works the clothing free, pushes it away.

“Did you truly think that I would allow this? Did you think there was _ any _fashion in which you did not belong to me?”

Hannibal remains pliant throughout, his hands obstinately pressed flat against the wall beside him despite Will’s aggressive assault. “You gave no indication that the latter was true,” Hannibal reminds him coolly. “We have been together for several months since leaving America, Will. If you desired me in such a way, I would have thought you would have made it clear by now.”

“You _ always _ take!” Will snaps back, halting in the removal of his own clothes to shove accusingly at Hannibal’s torso once more. “I was waiting for _ you, _ to act as you always do and take what you wanted but you _ haven’t. _ Even though we both know you want to.” He steps back, nearly curling in on himself in anguished rejection. _ “Why?” _ He implores, his anger seething even hotter as fragile insecurity floods through him. “I know it’s not because I’m an Alpha--I’ve heard of you being with them in the past--so _ why? _ Why do you have to go find some Omega slut when your mate is waiting at home?”

Hannibal actually looks speechless. It’s the first time Will can recall seeing him so in the five years he’s known him. And then, Will’s greatest fear. _ Sorrow _ floods the Alpha’s amber eyes; hesitance, _ pity. _ He’s baring his fangs before he even realizes he’s doing it, ripping his t-shirt off and pushing his sweatpants from his hips to reveal his own cock, flushed and angry, knot already half-swollen, ready to lock and claim. He grabs at Hannibal’s torso and spins the man around, slamming him against the wall once more, this time face first, as his own feet slip between Hannibal’s and force his legs to spread wider.

He gives two of his fingers a cursory suck, no longer caring if it’s enough to make the way pleasant for the other Alpha or not. He locks his jaw around the back of Hannibal’s neck, as he would if he were to hold an Omega in submission, his fangs looming threateningly around the doctor’s scent glands. When he reaches down to shove his fingers into his mate, unprepared and unpleasant as it may be, he is disconcerted with the way his digits slip in too easily; the muscle too lax, the glide too smooth. Will can feel a dangerous growl building up within him, his jaw seizing instinctively so his fangs press even harder into the flesh beneath him. 

Hannibal has been penetrated by another. He’s still loose and wet, still holds traces of the interloper’s semen as though it _ belongs _ in him. He knows, even as it’s happening, that Will is going feral. Knows it the way that someone involved in a car accident can feel every reaction, every judder and crunch of the car, knows that something monumental is happening. All the same, he can’t stop it.

He snarls, low and dangerous against Hannibal’s ear, even as he presses his digits ever inwards, seeking out the most intimate part of his mate, the part that had been denied to him yet offered freely to another. He works his fingers in an out of him vigorously in a mockery of preparation--obviously Hannibal doesn’t need any such thing at the moment--and all the while words drag themselves forcefully from his throat in hisses and growls.

“You think I’m going to stand by and watch my mate be taken by someone else? You think there’s _ any chance _ that you don’t belong to me?!” 

He pulls his fingers out and locks his hands around Hannibal’s hips, pinning him to the wall in one more place. His teeth snag roughly against the shell of Hannibal’s ear, his breathing coming in pants as he ruts his cock against the cleft of his ass. 

Slowly, external stimuli begin to permeate the haze of violent possessiveness that has been clouding Will’s mind. He realizes that Hannibal is no longer obediently still for him, though before his grip on the Alpha’s hips can tighten to claws instinctively, he pieces together that his mate is not trying to get away, but arching back _ into _ him, his head tipped to expose his neck (which Will does not focus on at the moment, because the sight of someone else’s love bites scattered down the expanse of flesh only causes another black wave of rage to crash through him). He can smell Hannibal’s arousal simmering thick and heavy between them. When he reaches one of his hands forward to wrap around the man pinned before him, he finds that Hannibal’s cock is fully engorged and leaking freely.

The physical evidence of his mate’s cooperation placates Will’s anger slightly, he can feel the fog of uncontrolled ferality begin to thin out, and allows a pleased purr to rumble through his chest in reward. There’s still the matter of another having had him, still the lingering scent and fluid of competition staining his mate, taunting him into action.

He knows, deep down, that the hand around the nape of Hannibal’s neck does little more than _ suggest _ control, knows that the other Alpha is not susceptible to the action the way an Omega would be, so his pleasure only grows when Hannibal remains willingly pliant and allows Will to pull him away from the wall to steer him towards the bed, which he has decided is a better location to properly make his claim.

_ “Present,” _ Will snarls in demand as he shoves Hannibal down, and Hannibal continues to obey, turning away from Will without question or objection to sink to his hands and knees in the most beautiful display Will has ever seen.

His cock hangs thick and heavy as he takes his position behind the other Alpha, his knot aching. He has just enough wherewithal to drop a globule of spit onto Hannibal’s hole before he lines up and shoves inward; he doesn’t halt until he’s buried as far within his mate as he can be, his hips flush with Hannibal’s thighs. He can’t hope to quell the satisfied snarl that claws out of his throat at feeling his mate’s tight heat spasming around his cock; Hannibal’s broken moan at the sudden fullness almost sounds like a sigh of relief, and every gasp and whimper that follows continues to please Will as he drapes himself over Hannibal’s broad back and begins pistoning his hips and in and out.

The instinct to subdue his mate with teeth at the neck is still present, though the heady, musky scent of his arousal is only growing more pronounced, his agreeable noises and writhing hips only signalling encouragement, so instead, Will places his mouth back at the man’s ear.

“You see? You see how you’re mine? Your body is so eager for me.” His growl is low, breathless with his exertions. Hannibal whines in response, and Will thrusts into him harder. “Who did you let touch you, Hannibal? I hope you got a good look, because as soon as I’m done with you here, we’re going to go track down that asshole so I can kill him. I’ll kill _ anyone _ that dares to touch you.”

Hannibal moans again, arching up into the solid line of Will’s body along him. “Will, darling, please,” he groans; Will can see that his knuckles have gone white gripping the duvet beneath him. “Your knot--”

Will’s responding chuckle is low and cruel and merciless. “One Alpha’s knot a night not enough for you?” The question hissed is low and dangerous, as everything has been since Hannibal got home, equal parts mocking and irate.

“He was a Beta,” Hannibal gasps. “I only want yours, please--”

Will snarls, rearing up and clamping one hand around Hannibal’s neck to flatten the Alpha against the bed. “The only words I want from you are ‘yes, Alpha’,” Will directs. “You want my knot?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Hannibal groans.

Will’s grin is malicious, and it’s a shame that Hannibal can’t see it. He forces himself to pull away with a snarl, digs his claws into Hannibal’s hips until he is hauling the other Alpha over onto his back. Hannibal looks beautiful, flushed and panting, his sharp features twisted with agonizing desire as he paws frantically in an attempt to pull Will close to him again. Will dips down, scoops his arms under Hannibal’s thighs to hoist them up and then slams home again.

Hannibal looks even more beautiful when he’s full of Will’s cock.

His head dips back, eyes closed and lips parted; his body returns to its writhing state, always arching up toward Will like a flower reaching desperately for the sun. Will allows himself the pleasure of burying deep inside his mate for a few more minutes, until his knot is fully swollen, catching on Hannibal’s rim teasingly with every thrust. The Alpha beneath him nods fervently, and Will thinks, from the shapes his mouth is making, that if he could find any further strength to speak he would be chanting ‘yes, Alpha, yes, Alpha’.

Will releases Hannibal’s legs, reaching instead to lock a bruising grip around Hannibal’s wrists, further pinning him to the bed. Hannibal submits to him, even as a frustrated wail falls from his lips when Will removes himself completely once again. 

“You think I’m going to reward you with my knot?” Will pants as he gives a few more aborted thrusts against Hannibal’s own leaking erection. “I think you need a reminder as to whom exactly you belong,” he grits out, and then spills his hot release over the other man’s torso.

His knot aches as he comes, desperate for pressure to milk a full load of seed from him, but Will endures, not willing to relinquish even one of Hannibal’s wrists. He watches as his release paints across Hannibal’s stomach and chest, watches Hannibal’s face contort with irritated longing as he realizes that he will not receive what he seeks. Watches as his scent and seed covers his mate, reclaiming him from the unknown, unworthy Beta that came before him. It’s a hollow satisfaction, knowing that in a matter of minutes a simple shower could wash away all of Will’s hard work and leave Hannibal a blank canvas once again, to be given to whatever person the Alpha deems fit.

Will snarls at the thought. Unacceptable.

“Perhaps a more permanent reminder,” he muses when his cock has spurted the last of his release.

When he falls forward, he’s not sure if he does so without thinking, or if it’s because of all the thinking he _ has _ done. Perhaps even in _ spite _ of it. He locks his fangs into Hannibal’s neck, wonders even as he bites down to pierce the Alpha’s flesh and scent gland if this particular idea is terrible or wonderful. Wonders, as he inevitably does when it comes to Hannibal, if it’s his idea at all.

Hannibal’s resulting cry is one of shock, certainly, but no outrage colors it. Instead, it’s a sound that thrums with ecstasy; a feeling made all the more apparent as Hannibal shudders with his orgasm and spills his release between them. Will grinds his weight down further with a contented hum at the evidence of his mate’s pleasure, and only releases his hold on the man’s neck when he falls bonelessly lax into the mattress beneath him. 

Will laps at the wound on his neck, savoring the taste of his mate’s blood. They won’t develop a bond as would an Alpha-Omega pair; they won’t undergo any physical, emotional or psychological changes that way, won’t be able to tap into that space within themselves that is full of the other to know what they are thinking or feeling. But they don’t need to. They don’t need to have a small part of themselves hollowed out for the other, because they are already the same person. Conjoined. They don’t need pheromones and biochemistry to understand the thoughts and emotions of the other, because every wall that can possibly stand between two people has already been forcibly decimated with blood and tears, betrayal and sacrifice. They have already been bound to each other for years.

And now Hannibal bears the physical evidence of that bond. Will gazes down at his mate, an emotion that is impossible to classify swelling in his chest. Hannibal meets his gaze, his amber eyes completely overtaken with Alpha red and shining with unshed tears. He leans lower and bares his neck. The tears that fall from his own eyes as Hannibal rears up and sinks his fangs deep are ones of relief, and wholly unexpected.

He knows that nothing biological is _ really _ happening; knows that it can’t, between two Alphas. All the same, Will finally feels whole and home.

He rolls them to their sides when Hannibal releases him, chest pressed to chest and limbs slotting together like two jigsaw pieces; perfectly and effortless. They are silent for a long while, eyes and hands roaming slowly, carefully, as if one stray move might undo all the progress they’ve made. Slowly, the overwhelming jealousy and rage that had hijacked Will’s higher brain function dissipates, replaced with fragile contentment.

“Did you know that I would do that, when you went out tonight?” Will finally asks. He doesn’t know why the words leave his mouth on a whisper.

Hannibal’s gaze is warm and fond when it falls upon him, his natural color shining through as the Alpha instincts stirred with his arousal slowly subside. He shifts the hand settled over Will’s ribs up to his face, to brush away the curls that have plastered themselves to his forehead with sweat. “I never know what you are going to do,” Hannibal admits, equally as soft. 

Will hums at that, and even though he believes him, the next words tumble forth anyways. “It’s hard for me to know sometimes, if I’m acting because of my own agency or yours.”

His eyes slip shut as Hannibal’s fingers drift down from his temple to run along the edge of his jaw, brush across his lips; an electric pulse follows close behind, and Will can almost smell the burning of ozone. 

“I have no agency when it comes to you, Will,” Hannibal breathes, and Will knows, even as his eyes are closed, that Hannibal is pressing closer because he can feel it with every fiber of his being, can feel his warm breath against his mouth. “Where you are concerned, I have long since been a slave to my love.”

Will closes the remaining distance between them, their mouths slotting together just as perfectly as the rest of them has. They hold together for uncounted beats and then, as one entity, their lips drift open and tongues seek out. Their movements are heated and languid, exploratory and knowing all at once.

It’s the perfect first kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://raiast.tumblr.com)


End file.
